


Quid Pro Quo

by UninspiredPoet



Series: Quid Pro Quo [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Biting, Established Relationship, F/F, First Time, Lesbian Sex, Marking, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, political marriage au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 00:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22007020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UninspiredPoet/pseuds/UninspiredPoet
Summary: Sylvanas Windrunner and Jaina Proudmoore have been married for months. An arrangement that is purely political in nature.Except, Jaina has needs. So does Sylvanas, whether she has any intention of admitting that fact, or not.When Sylvanas returns one night earlier than expected to find Jaina reading something not at all wholesome in nature, it's the perfect storm.
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner
Series: Quid Pro Quo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764391
Comments: 65
Kudos: 572





	1. Stories and Stipulations

**Author's Note:**

> More political marriage drabbles.

Jaina couldn’t see Sylvanas standing in the darkness outside the doorway of her bedroom. She couldn’t hear her, either.

Those were both experiences currently reserved only for the risen High-Elf whose ears shifted subtly with each new sound that fell upon them. Whose eyes smoldered in fiery red from the shadows. The rapid thrum of Jaina’s heart. The quiet, stilted gasps falling from her lips. 

Yet, she was struggling to bring herself to completion - Sylvanas observed idly. Perhaps the book was too much distraction. Sylvanas could tell by the binding that it was likely Elven in origin. Likely written in her own tongue, and not in Jaina’s. 

Perhaps it had just been too long. This was the first time Sylvanas had left her since their marriage, and that was months ago. When they weren’t at each other’s throats with often-stinging barbs or witticisms, they were working. Working to nourish this new, tenuous alliance they had paid for, jointly, with their freedom. 

Sylvanas hadn’t really recognized, until now, who had sacrificed more in this area. Jaina was human. Mortal. She had needs - needs that flowed through the current of her very blood and thrummed in much the same way that her heart did inside her chest, right now. 

Such needs in herself, Sylvanas had found, were sluggish. Shallow. Easy to dismiss. Her cheeks could no longer flush like Jaina’s did, now. Her skin no longer glistened with the sheen of sweat...like Jaina’s did now. Her vision sharpened further as Jaina’s brow furrowed. Perhaps in pleasure. Perhaps in frustration. She watched her wife’s jaw clench as her eyes shut tightly against the faint glow in them, and she stepped through the door. 

At once, Jaina gasped sharply at the sound of footfall and shot up in bed, a look of disbelief on her face as she pulled the covers in front of her bare form and tossed the book aside. 

“My apologies,” Sylvanas said in a low, yet neutral tone. 

“You...you could have knocked!” Jaina half-shouted her indignation at the seemingly unaffected banshee across the room. At her wife. Sylvanas was her wife. And…

“You would have me knock before I enter my own bedroom?” Sylvanas asked quietly, unbuckling her gauntlets and placing them on the armor stand near the door. 

There it was.

“Yes,” Jaina mumbled, though she sounded slightly defeated. “No.”

She had been trying. Truly. Sylvanas had been more than patient. More than accommodating, as she grew used to the needs of a living person once again. She had also been more than patient with Jaina’s questioning of her misdeeds, among other things. And when Sylvanas turned to look at her impassively, she felt a tinge of regret. At least, until the woman spoke. 

“Don’t stop on my account, Jaina.” 

“Don't be ridiculous.” 

Sylvanas’s eyes flicked to the bed, where the book was still lying face-down and still open. There wasn't much hesitation between that moment and the moment Sylvanas crosses the room and reached for the book before Jaina could stop her. Her eyes flicked across the text and then back up to meet Jaina’s. 

“This is Thalassian, as I assumed.”

Jaina drew the blankets tighter against herself, then, and the flush deepened in her chest. “You were watching me…”

“You knew.” Sylvanas countered, and Jaina narrowed her eyes in frustration. “You felt me, I know. You likely hoped I would do just this, that you could continue to feign virtue in my presence when you have as many needs as any other, if not more. You likely still hope that I won't allow it.” 

Jaina’s face fell. She hated how Sylvanas saw right through her. Laid her bare so that even she could see the truth behind her actions when she'd hidden it, even, from herself. “Please don't speak to me that way.”

Sylvanas looked at her calmly for a moment longer and then reached to relieve herself of the heavy pauldrons. Not that she could feel their weight. But she still desired comfort from time to time. She had...well, begun to allow herself to desire it.

“And so, the archer ran the flat of her tongue over the swell of her lover’s breast and drew the fire in her core from hiding. Set her stomach alight with embers. Stoked the flames that licked at her heart, all with a few timely strokes.” Sylvanas read in quiet, easy Common. She didn't need to think about the translating. Not really. She had mastered that long before her death. 

“Sylvanas…”

“Would you prefer to continue reading it yourself?” Sylvanas asked with a lift of her brow. She wasn't certain Jaina could have answered her just then. Nevertheless, she continued. Further down.

“A cacophony of audible evidences of pleasure rose between them in the room. Or perhaps a symphony. Skin against skin. Sweat against sweat. The roughness of the archer’s palms somehow soothed the burning in her lover’s skin and made her ache anew all at once.” Sylvanas read ahead silently for a moment before her eyes slowly lifted to meet Jaina’s pleasing ones.

“There are many stories in this volume...yet, you choose the archer.”

“Sylvanas, if you don't stop, I will leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm mortified.” 

Sylvanas handed the book over immediately, and Jaina looked at it in surprise for a moment before taking it from her.

“Then continue your reading. Continue pretending I am not here.” 

Jaina looked on, too shocked to speak as Sylvanas lowered herself to her knees between her legs where they hung over the edge of the bed. 

“You...are making it difficult to pretend you aren't here.” 

“Why?” Sylvanas asked. Again. Simple. Infuriating.

“You know why.” Jaina breathed as Sylvanas began pulling the blanket from her hand with steady weight against the large, feather-filled bedcover where it hung near the door.

“I'm afraid I don't. I am but a simple archer.” 

But those eyes that burned up at her - red and glowing in a way that always looked dangerous - were not the eyes of a 'simple archer’. Though, Jaina had learned over the months that they weren't truly dangerous. She had learned that she could push Sylvanas to the end of her sanity to find her breaking point...and never find it. 

“A simple archer who hears your heart racing.” 

Jaina dropped the blanket, and Sylvanas’s eyes only moved to the mage’s thighs. They didn't pause to rake over a body they had never seen. Nor did her hands move to the ample curves of Jaina’s breasts. No, they ghosted along the sides of Jaina’s calves, rough and calloused. Archers’ hands. Gentle. Slightly cool. 

“Keep reading,” Sylvanas whispered as she lowered her head and brushed her lips against Jaina’s inner thigh. 

For a moment, Jaina had a hard time focusing on the words printed on the page she was trying to decipher. Her mind was terribly busy racing. About the fact that Sylvanas was between her legs. About her rough hands stroking the gentlest touches up her shins and over her knees. And especially her cool breaths drawing a shudder from her as they drew closer and closer to her core. 

But this was her wife. They were married. They shared a kingdom. A home. A bed. 

Neither of them was the type to seek other arrangements. Sylvanas didn't necessarily need the attention, and Jaina, well...when Sylvanas had offered to arrange something for her, Jaina had seen the ways her ears pressed back and betrayed the way she truly felt about the matter, despite having been the one who offered.

No, Jaina would not feel shame for seeking pleasure from her wife. She would not feel shame in spreading her legs wider for her, or in the trembling of her hands against the book she was still holding as Sylvanas’s lips moved from her skin only to return in a lingering kiss against the soft skin between her legs, just above her clit.

“What did the archer do for her lover?” Sylvanas asked in a whisper so soft her voice lacked its usual hollowness almost entirely. “What would you have the archer do for her mage?”

“This…” Jaina whispered breathlessly. “I would have her do this.” 

Sylvanas’s lips quirked ever so slightly, though Jaina didn't see, as she ran her tongue with painful slowness along the dripping wetness Jaina had already worked herself into.

Jaina gasped sharply, nearly dropping the book as one of her hands shot down to grip the edge of the bed. Oh, gods, it had been too long. And the cool, slick feeling of Sylvanas’s tongue gradually beginning to lap at her clit was almost soothing to the aching, fiery heat that had settled there.

Sylvanas said nothing else. She just kept moving her tongue in slow circles as Jaina’s stomach tensed and moved rapidly with her breathing. Toying, delicate little movements with the tip of her tongue came next. Gentle, yet insistent nudges against Jaina’s clit with the very tip of it. She didn't give Jaina anything more until the mage finally couldn't restrain the whimper that had caught in the back of her throat.

Then, however, she pressed her face into the softness of her wife. She pulled Jaina’s clit between her lips with soft suction and nursed it with slow, rhythmic sucking.

Her eyes were shut, now. She didn't need to see Jaina when she could hear her so well. When she could feel the arcane energies that always flowed through and around her ebbing and rising like a tide as her control waxed and waned. 

When she began teasing at Jaina’s entrance with her fingertips, the book was all but forgotten as Jaina placed it aside and leaned back against the pillows behind herself. 

“How will you know how it ends?” Sylvanas asked, so close to Jaina that Jaina could feel her shallow breathing against the aching place she had just abandoned.

Jaina huffed loudly and began reaching between her own legs, but faltered when the full lengths of two of Sylvanas’s fingers pressed into her without warning and curled, easily rubbing at the spot she had found that had Jaina’s legs shaking in no time. 

“I will tell you how it ends, then,” Sylvanas whispered, placing a single kiss to Jaina’s clit before she continued. “The archer’s lover comes. Loudly, while trying to bite back her name upon her tongue. She fails.”

Jaina had a lot to say to that. Or at least, she would have had Sylvanas’s mouth not redoubled its efforts.

The archer’s lover absolutely came. The archer’s name fell from the mage’s lips in a series of stuttered, breathless whispers and groans. 

Sylvanas pulled back when Jaina’s trembling was more about over-stimulation than pleasure, and the moment Jaina’s eyes were on her, Sylvanas wiped the glistening wetness from her face and then, subsequently, onto Jaina’s thigh. 

Jaina had known Sylvanas long enough to know that the little movement of the corners of her lips had been a smirk. It took a moment to force herself to sit up. To watch Sylvanas stand and move back across the room to finish removing her armor.

“You didn't have to do that, Sylvanas,” Jaina said quietly as she pulled the blankets back over her lap, though she didn't bother covering the rest of herself, now.

“You are my wife.” Sylvanas countered, as though that explained everything. As though it was as simple as that.

“I have been your wife for some time, now.”

“You were in need.”

Jaina was quiet for a while before she could formulate a response.

“I can take care of myself.” But there had been no real defiance in that statement. And Sylvanas’s ear flicked in Jaina’s direction as she hung her cuirass on its stand. 

“You did. I wasn't here, remember?” Sylvanas sounded distant, again. The echo was sharply apparent in the dual-tone of her voice. 

Jaina watched Sylvanas until she was stripped down to just her leather wraps and breeches. She'd seen this a few times before, of course. She'd seen the scars. The strength, forever frozen in time. Like a sculpture. Or perhaps more like a monument to war. 

When Sylvanas was in her regalia, larger than life and very much an image that was very much intentional, it was so easy to remember the terrible things she had done. The awful decisions she had made. 

But when she turned to look in Jaina’s direction, her dull, pale hair hanging around her shoulders and her eyes that Jaina had no doubt had once been beautiful looking anywhere but at her, it was becoming easier to remember her reasons. It was becoming far, far too easy to remember that Sylvanas was a woman not unlike herself. 

Changed. Shaped. But not in the way that water smooths the surface of rocks until they glimmer under its gentle current.

No, streams didn't make the lines of scar and muscle alike in Sylvanas’s body. Roaring, angry rivers that moved mountains - raging floodwaters that cut hills into valleys and valleys into canyons had made her this way. 

The same waters that had shaped Jaina. With the same violent, unexpected suddenness. 

“I didn't.” Jaina finally said, so quietly that Sylvanas had no choice but to look at her. 

“You didn't what?”

“I didn't pretend that it wasn't you.” 

Odd, how much Sylvanas moved more like a stream as she approached. How the muscle shifted beneath her pallid skin like stones beneath gently rippling water.

Peculiar, how she stopped in front of Jaina and looked down at her with softness in the hardest eyes Jaina had ever seen. 

And when Jaina reached out to touch along her bare stomach, it tensed beneath her hand. But Sylvanas didn't move. 

“Who are you?” Jaina asked quietly, moving both her hands to Sylvanas’s hips as she looked up at her.

“Why ask now?” Sylvanas queries with her arms still hanging at her sides. 

“Because I would care to know. I would care to know my wife. I would care to know my simple archer. My General. My Forsaken Queen. My Warchief. I would care to know all of these women. I would care to know you.”

“You ask for a story that there will never be enough time to tell. A story with far too many pages.” Sylvanas warned, fighting to keep her voice steady. 

“We have many years.” Jaina countered, moving one of her hands to slide along Sylvanas’s stomach until it rested against her chest. 

“And would you share yours with me?” Sylvanas asked simply, one of her drawn-back ears flicking only slightly at the very tip. 

Surprise stole Jaina’s tongue for a moment. Long enough for Sylvanas to keep speaking.

“It seems a fair trade. A simple mage for a simple archer, and how they both became what they now are. Perhaps what they may become together in years that haven't yet passed.” 

Jaina nodded faintly. “I would tell you my story if only to learn yours.”

“Very well.” Sylvanas pulled away so quickly that Jaina wasn't sure what to do with her hands.

“What are you doing?”

“You like tea with your stories,” Sylvanas explained simply as she moved the kettle so it was hanging over the flames of the fire that burned in their hearth. 

“I...I didn't realize that you had noticed.” 

“I notice many things,” Sylvanas responded with a smirk in Jaina’s direction.

“Like what?” Jaina asked, narrowing her eyes in return.

“Like which books have been disturbed on my shelves and which have not.” 

“And here I had begun to grow fond of your mouth…”

Jaina had never heard Sylvanas’s laugh. Had never seen the gentle smile and delicate lines that came with it. It made her breath catch in her throat.

“I will make you fond of it again, don't fret,” Sylvanas responded nonchalantly as she dropped the little metal ball containing Jaina’s tea blend into the kettle and pulled it from the fire. 

Jaina sighed, but stood nonetheless and allowed the covers to fall away. Her first steps were careful but grew in confidence until she was standing at Sylvanas’s side and reaching for the wrap around her chest. 

“What are you doing?” Sylvanas asked as she paused in her tasks. 

“Is it a sin to want to see one’s wife?” Jaina asked quietly. “Just as she has seen her own?” 

“Jaina…” There was an almost-warning somewhere in Sylvanas’s tone. “Don't start something you don't intend to finish. Not with me.”

“I have every intent. Every intent to know you. Your story. Your heart. Your body.” 

“A heart that no longer beats,” Sylvanas said, her voice low as Jaina let the wraps fall to the floor as Sylvanas turned to face her. 

“Perhaps. But a heart, nonetheless.” 

Sylvanas exhaled through slightly flared nostrils and took a step towards Jaina that effectively trapped the mage between herself and the desk. Yet, the touch that came next was strangely tender. Just a brushing of Sylvanas’s knuckles along her cheek. “And if you don't like what you find?” 

“A question for another day,” Jaina responded. 

“And what of tonight?” Sylvanas asked with a slight tilt of her head.

“Let what will be, be, Sylvanas. We have an agreement. My story for yours. Perhaps my body for yours would not be so bad an addendum.” 

Sylvanas’s gaze stayed leveled on Jainas as the mage began unlacing the breeches she was still wearing. 

“Perhaps not.”


	2. Where Would You Like Them Left?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sweetness  
>  Could they have just a taste  
> Of this  
> This beautiful disgrace_   
> 

Sylvanas looked distant. She… _felt_ distant, right now. But then, Jaina knew by now that sometimes these stories became difficult for her wife to remember the details of. She had also learned that the fact that some of it was just gone pained her.

Jaina knew, now, about the simple archer. About the young captain and her loving family that extended into the village that had carried her family’s name. Some, Sylvanas remembered. Some, she no longer could. 

It had been a few weeks, now. Since that first night. Since the night that had begun to change who they were to each other. 

Jaina used to find it so easy to ignore these silences. They usually came with brooding. With a clench of her wife’s jaw or a brightening of the red in her eyes. But this…this almost forlorn staring at the ceiling of the bed they shared, in the dying flickers of light their cooling fire still emitted - there was no ignoring. 

“I didn't mean to upset you, if I have,” Jaina said quietly from her side of the bed where she lay on her side so she could better see and hear her wife.

“I don't remember what I was saying,” Sylvanas admitted just as softly. 

“You told me that all you ever wanted was to make your mother proud. I asked you if you did.” Jaina’s face fell and she gathered the courage needed to move closer to Sylvanas, though she didn't touch her. “And I should not have asked you that.”

Something flickered in Sylvanas’s eyes, then. Pain, perhaps. “I don't know. I only know that I am glad that she died.”

Jaina swallowed thickly. Anyone else, she might have chastised. Anyone else, she might have despised for saying such a thing. “Why?”

“She never had to see me fail,” Sylvanas whispered, unblinking. Unmoving. 

Another thing Jaina had learned, was that Sylvanas couldn't cry. Often, Jaina did so in her stead. She was coming very close, tonight.

“Again and again and again. At every turn. It doesn't matter if she was proud of me, Jaina. None of that matters now. If she was, that pride would now be dead and buried. Forgotten in the ruins of my country and the graves of my people.” 

Jaina moved closer, still. Until her head rested tentatively on Sylvanas’s bare shoulder, and her wife’s hand moved to her hair on instinct - stroking through the white, silky strands that now splayed across her cool skin. Jaina liked for Sylvanas to touch her hair. These were easy concessions. Simple things to keep Jaina happy. 

Not that Jaina was particularly unhappy at the moment. They were in Kul-Tiras, now. Jaina was always happier here. Away from what they had built from the decay of Lordaeron. Her family was here. Her people were here.

And Sylvanas did her best not to be angry with her for it. But she had been agitated today. She was agitated even now. 

In fact, she didn't even realize how tightly she had clenched her jaw until Jaina leaned over and brushed the bridge of her nose against it. “Sylvanas, take a breath and let it go.” Jaina murmured, and Sylvanas did. A breath that shuddered on its way back out. 

“I am proud of.” Jaina continued. “I am so very proud to be privileged enough to share my life with you. I never thought I would feel this way when we made our vows to one another. I never thought I would learn the stories of your scars and the battles of your past and your heart. I never thought I would ache in the core of my soul for you. What I'm certain of, is that you made her proud. And if she is watching now, if she sees what you've given for all of our people...she is prouder, still.” 

“Your words are kind.” Sylvanas turned her attention to Jaina for the first time in what felt like hours, reaching up to touch her hair and draw some of it into her fingers to keep her close. “They have been, as of late.” 

“You don’t like being here,” Jaina responded quietly. “But you come, nonetheless, for my benefit.” 

“What if I come to be sure that you don’t stray?” Sylvanas asked - searching Jaina’s eyes while she spoke. Jaina couldn’t tell what Sylvanas was looking for. She only knew Sylvanas was stroking across her lower lip with the pad of her thumb. She only knew she was kissing it softly as it passed. 

“For that, I wouldn’t fault you.” Jaina finally said. “I know that what you have with me, you haven’t had in a long while. I know that the place we’ve finally come to is still very new. But I am your wife, and yours alone.”

“Words. Papers. Signatures on parchment.” Sylvanas said quietly. “Meaningless, in practice.” 

“Not to me,” Jaina whispered. “It was you that suggested I find my own source of...entertainment. It was you that bit those words out, all those months ago. As though it pained you to do so long before you had ever touched me. Is it so meaningless, then?”

Sylvanas moved her hand, then, to lift Jaina’s chin slightly. To brush their lips together in an almost-kiss, though she didn’t pull away entirely. Jaina’s lips still tingled with the cool, as-yet not-so-familiar feeling left behind by Sylvanas’s own. 

“I suppose not.” Sylvanas murmured. “Perhaps I’ve allowed myself to be drawn too far into my own mind.” 

Jaina shook her head faintly and wrapped her hand around Sylvanas’s wrist, touching the inside of it with soft strokes of her thumb as her brow furrowed. “That is a part of this, Sylvanas. Of the telling of one’s story. I thank you for it. For everything you’ve told me.” 

Sylvanas hummed in the back of her throat and lowered her head to graze Jaina’s jawline with her lips. “Perhaps I am in need of a distraction.” 

Jaina huffed quietly and tilted her chin up as she moved her hand from Sylvanas’s wrist to her chest. Not to stop her. Not at all. More often than not, now, the stories they shared with each other ended like this. Jaina didn't mind. She almost looked forward to it. To Sylvanas sharing to a point of vulnerability that led her to seek physical intimacy. It made her seem so real. It made this seem so real, and not just some image they were presenting. Some united front. Proof that if they could do this without killing each other - so, then, could their people. 

No, in these moments - they were something less. No longer clandestine paragons of hope for everlasting peace. 

Just people. People who were still learning the right places to touch. The right times to speak and the words to say. 

Sylvanas turned to face Jaina and stroked down towards the small of her back and didn't pause - instead, she gave the curve of her ass a firm knead that had the mage pressing her hips closer. 

“We have a dinner to attend.” Jaina protested half-heartedly. “I need to get ready, and so do you.”

“I am in no rush to bare the scathing gaze of your mother this night, Jaina. Nor am I in a rush to hear the whispers of your kinsmen when they think I can't hear them.” 

Sylvanas was never in a rush for that. For the stinging words and scathing glances that were always thought to be discreet. 

_"They share a bedroom. Do you think…?”_

_"Don’t be ridiculous. Jaina wouldn’t.”_

_"You don’t think so? Banshee, dragon, what’s the difference?”_

Sylvanas could almost feel the strength in Jaina’s grip around her arm as she blinked away the memory and looked up at her. 

“If you're in no rush, neither am I, Sylvanas.” Jaina reassured quietly. Reassuring her was something new, as well. Calming the fire that would always burn in her instead of stoking it. Recognizing the way the embers in her eyes flared and cooled and learning what that meant. Right now, those eyes were soft as Jaina stroked along the hard expanse of Sylvanas’s stomach. Coaxing. Soothing. “We have time if there is something you are needing.”

Sylvanas pulled the blankets from her naked form, then, exposing the fact that one of her legs was already spread - rather casually. Rather expectantly. 

Jaina wondered what it was, exactly, that her wife wanted. Some memory to silently will into the minds of those that would gossip about them later, perhaps. But she also wondered if Sylvanas wanted more than that. For the whispers to stop. To be treated how the wife or the husband of anyone else would be treated.

Because the Sylvanas that Jaina had long considered no better than a monster? That person wasn't here, right now. Not in the tensing stomach beneath Jaina’s hand that jumped when Jaina dipped her fingertips lower, grazing the hollow place of one of her hips. Not in breaths coming more quickly than they usually did, despite how unnecessary they were. 

It had only been recently that Jaina had first truly begun to make good on her side of their trade. Only recently that Jaina had given Sylvanas more than inquisitive touches and half-attempts. But now, she knew. She knew that if she touched even lower, she would find that her wife was very much aroused. Very much wet. Just like she, herself was. 

“What do you want?” Jaina asked as her hand moved to Sylvanas’s inner thigh, only for that to tense, as well. 

“Your mouth,” Sylvanas said quietly, reaching for Jaina and grazing her thumb across the mage’s lips. “Your tongue. If you are willing.”

Jaina smiled faintly and a bit of sadness flickered across her features. It was this that had largely changed what was left of Jaina’s mind. This self-loathing that reared its head every so often. Sometimes subtle, like it was now. Sometimes violent, though never towards Jaina. But though she had seen Sylvanas nearly mad with it, the quiet times were the deafening ones. Because they always came not when Sylvanas was doing something for her, but when Sylvanas dared ask for something in return. As though it were a chore. As though it were something for Jaina to grit her teeth through. 

“I am always willing, Sylvanas. Please believe me when I say that.”

Sylvanas just looked at her. An unreadable expression that Jaina’s gaze eventually fell from. Yet, as soon as she moved between her wife’s legs, there was a hand in her hair - tugging faintly. Jaina wondered idly if Sylvanas would ever give voice to the depths of her needs. The needs of a body so devastatingly beautiful that it made Jaina’s heart ache to know how long it had gone untouched. Un-sated. To know how long those ideas of unworthiness and disgust had grown and rooted in her wife’s mind, unchecked. Like a disease that Jaina was trying desperately to cure even now. Even with hard bites to the insides of her thighs. Even with sharp exhales as Sylvanas pulled at her hair to get her closer.

Soon, though, Jaina finally had her mouth against Sylvanas, drawing in a deep breath before she first found her clit with her tongue. In that moment, as she ran her hands down Sylvanas's thighs and along her stomach - she felt like spring-steel beneath her touch. Like a bow drawn so tightly that it was in danger of shattering with the tension. 

Jaina wasn't gentle. She licked hard at Sylvanas’s clit. Lifted her head and bit the soft mound of flesh above just as firmly, though she left no mark. It drew a shudder from her wife, however. Awakened her dulled senses. Allowed her to feel what little she could.

Her fingers, too, were brazen when they came into play. There was no such thing as ‘too hard’ when it came to Sylvanas. No such thing as ‘too much’. 

So Jaina was panting and gasping for breath against her as she drew her clit into her mouth with firm suction time and again while her fingers spread and fucked her wife relentlessly. Filling the room with wet noises and hollow, echoing groans that Sylvanas choked back into her throat as often as she could. 

“Harder.” Sylvanas pleaded quietly, and Jaina’s eyes flashed up to her as she leaned onto her free arm and pressed a third finger into her, pistoning her hand so roughly it would have bruised any other lover. Any living lover who had the privilege of enjoying gentle, slow love-making. But Jaina didn’t much care. Not when Sylvanas was digging her fingertips into her scalp and her heels into the bed on either side of her. Because this wasn’t just any lover. 

This belonged to Jaina. These hoarse, ethereal cries that barely made it past Sylvanas’s lips. Perhaps there were parts of Sylvanas that would never be Jaina’s. Perhaps she would never win what was left of her heart. Perhaps she would never win what was left of her trust. 

But this shuddering, desperate orgasm and hips that pressed so close and so hard Jaina didn’t care if she ever breathed, again? _This_ , at least, was only hers. The moments after, too. When Sylvanas didn’t relent on the grip she had on Jaina’s hair. When she turned them and pinned Jaina against the bed and threatened bites that she would never deliver on. Against her neck. Her jaw. Until those teeth finally dug into her shoulder without apology. Without question. 

And Jaina moaned low and deep in her chest as her own hands darted into Sylvanas’s hair. Holding her there instead of pushing her away. 

Because she wanted Sylvanas to have this as much as she wanted it for herself. She wanted her wife’s hand between her legs and her teeth in her flesh marking her. A hidden, stinging reminder that no matter who said what awful things they should never give voice to in the royal hall that evening, Jaina absolutely touched her. Sylvanas absolutely touched Jaina in turn. So often now, their nights ended in cries of pleasure and warm baths that soothed aches and bruises because they were both broken. Perhaps irreparably. In a way neither of them could truly recover from. 

So to break one another in such a fashion - to reduce each other to trembling, quaking beings that could do little else but breathe and attempt to re-assemble what they had undone. That’s exactly what they were doing now. Now that Jaina had come, too. As hard and fast as Sylvanas had. It just took her longer to get her wits back about her. 

But that was longer for Sylvanas brush her lips against the mark she’d left. That was longer for them to turn on their sides and face each other and get lost in half-dazed deep, lingering kisses that left Jaina more breathless than she’d been when they started. 

“We need to get ready.” Jaina finally whispered, though getting the words out was quite the struggle. 

“I thought you weren’t in a rush.” Sylvanas murmured into her hair. 

Jaina was loath to give this up. Sylvanas wouldn’t admit that she was, too. No, she would look at Jaina for a while longer. Come through her mess of white hair and find the blond strands with her fingertips without saying anything. She would pretend, for just a while, that this was all they were. That they were fixed. That they could fuck hard enough to feel whole, again once they were done.

But they would get up. They would bathe quickly and dress themselves in expensive clothing and appear unaffected by the stares when they made their way into the banquet hall. 

And then, Jaina would reach for Sylvanas beneath the table every so often. Just to touch the leather covering her thigh. Just to let her feel the warmth of her hand. To let her know that she wasn’t the only broken one, but she wouldn’t rather belong to anyone that wasn’t Sylvanas. Not anymore. And she wouldn’t want anyone else to belong to her. 

And Sylvanas would cover that hand with her own.


End file.
